


Humanity: End

by TrashNotIncluded



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Apocalypse, Gen, Minor Violence, Original Character(s), Original Content - Freeform, Original Story - Freeform, Zombies, but not really, implied suicide, like really implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14852256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashNotIncluded/pseuds/TrashNotIncluded
Summary: The drug spread through the air. That’s how it was first distributed. The drug was a fine white powder, making it easy to float through the air and difficult for the human eye to see. The powder was also tasteless and odorless. It was undetectable to the conscious mind.It was the end of humanity.





	Humanity: End

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original story with no conection to any fandoms.
> 
> The drug spread through the air. That’s how it was first distributed. The drug was a fine white powder, making it easy to float through the air and difficult for the human eye to see. The powder was also tasteless and odorless. It was undetectable to the conscious mind.  
> It was the end of humanity.

          The drug spread through the air. That’s how it was first distributed. The drug was a fine white powder, making it easy to float through the air and difficult for the human eye to see. The powder was also tasteless and odorless. It was undetectable to the conscious mind.

          The news, when there still was news, said the drug was made by a chemical engineer. His name was Marley Fabry. He had a little girl, an eight-year-old named May. According to the news, she had been battling with AML, acute myelogenous leukemia, for most of her life. She lost the fight about two weeks before her ninth birthday. Dr. Fabry lost it after that. He became delusional, saying it was the government’s fault, that they killed his daughter by keeping treatment from her. I guess it’s easier to blame the government than to accept that things were out of your control. I can understand that.

          For his test run, Dr. Fabry released a vial of the drug on a breezy day, right over a park in some tiny, unnamed town. The government quarantined the place, saying there was an outbreak of a mysterious disease, that there was no need to worry, that it was all under control. Everybody believed them and continued on with their lives, thinking that was the end of it. We were so foolish.

          No one knows exactly how it spread. Some speculate that Dr. Fabry used airplanes. Others say it was spread using a giant fan, or some other doofenshmirtz-like machine. Either way, the drug spread far and it spread fast. The world never had a chance.

         The effect wasn’t immediate. Some people sneezed, some coughed, most showed no reaction at all. An hour in, people showed some signs. They became jumpy, distracted. Two hours in, the people became unstable, becoming angry and violent at the drop of a hat. At three hours, the paranoia sets in. They become convinced that the people around them were hiding something from them, something that they desperately needed.They start yelling, accusing people they once loved. Nothing is left of the mind by the fourth hour.

          We call them the Addicted. They don’t kill people. They absolutely obliterate people. They tear them limb from limb, rip out their organs, maul them so completely that whatever was left when they were done could hardly be thought of as once human. Then, the Addicted go out and kill some more. Over and over and over. Never stopping.

         Our parents died pretty close to the beginning. They went into town to get supplies and gas masks. They made it back to the house with all their limbs, but it was clear that they were becoming addicted. Back in the beginning, we had to use masks torn from sheets to protect us from the drug in the air. While the masks worked okay for a quick few minutes, they were not made to work for the two hours it took our parents for the trip. So they unloaded all the supplies, then they got in the car and drove off. We never saw them again. I think my sister was as relieved as I was about that. I don’t think either one of us could handle shooting our own parents.

         Knowing how to seal a house was essential to survival. You had to cover every entrance, every vent, every crack. There had to be no way for the outside air to get in. If you screwed up, made one mistake, you would become one of the Addicted. After all, you couldn’t wear a gas mask 24/7.

         The seal for our house was near perfect. There were no leaks, no rips, no scratches, no improperly taped sides. So how, I wonder from my chair at the table, did my sister get infected? I watch my sister walk around the kitchen. Her usually intelligent blue eyes are dull, unfocused. Every step she takes is slow, her feet dragging along the floor. Her left elbow is all bloody from where she has been absentmindedly scratching it. It’s clear she is in the first hour after becoming Addicted.

         She looks so small, I think. Her pale skin and dirty hair makes her look sickly. I think of how she used to be so vibrant, so full of life. The way she was before the Addiction. It’s hard to imagine that this thin wisp of a girl is the same person. Then again, I doubt I look like I used to.

         I look at the gun in my hands. It’s a pretty simple gun. A rueger. I look back up at my sister. I don’t want to do it. We’ve always been close, even before the Addiction. We told each other everything, never kept secrets from each others. Partners in crime, that’s what we were. Everybody used to joke that we acted more like twins instead of sisters born 2 years apart. I look back at the gun. I know she would want me to do it. That she would want me to kill her while she could still be considered human. I point the gun at her head. My hand isn’t shaking like I thought it would. She turns to look at me. We make eye contact. I pull the trigger. Red and gray spray out behind her, covering the wall like a macabre painting. Her body jerks, then drops.

         I can’t feel anything. I think something in my chest broke when I pulled the trigger. I get up and walk to the couch in the living room. I don’t want her dead eyes looking at me anymore. I sit there looking at the gun. I don’t know what to do. Everything feels empty. I feel empty. Alone. I’m completely alone. No one is left. Except me. How pointless.

 

 

I look down the barrel of the gun.


End file.
